Christmas Confessions
by Lesera128
Summary: Every time Christmas rolled around, one of them found out they'd ended up facing the truth of some type of confession.  After the revelation, things never turned out as B&B had planned. One chapter per year of the partnership tells the story. Complete.
1. Year 1: Brennan's First Confession

Christmas Confessions

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Every time Christmas rolled around, one of them found out they'd ended up facing the truth of some type of confession. And, each year, after said revelation, things never went as Booth and Brennan had planned.

A/N: I imagine each of these one-shots, which I'm going to try to keep short (probably around 1000-1500 words—which every who's read my work before knows is a postcard—as loosely connected. Right now, the target is going to be for a total of eight pieces in this series - one for each year B&B have known each other. As the plan stands, I'm keeping the rating as T, but you never know where my muse might take me. Point-of-view and genre will vary depending on the year of said confession. Reviews are appreciated since their one of my favorite presents, but not required. Happy reading!~

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><p>Year 1: Brennan's First Confession<p>

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><p>Although some people think I'm immune to it, the effects of the holiday season do get to me in certain weak moments. I won't lie, but then again, since I never lie, it's not that much of an issue for me to admit that in a moment I actually thought of him.<p>

It was three days before Christmas, a holiday that I disliked as much for personal reasons as for the inaccuracy of the religious myth that is perpetuated on a massive scale to the global population. Each year before I sojourn to the calm refuge of my archaeological dig during the holiday, I sometimes have to suffer the hustle and bustle of the consumer season. It was on such an occasion that _he _popped into my mind.

On that particular day, I'd gone to the grocery store to purchase enough food for my evening meal, since I was trying to keep my refrigerator empty in anticipation of my impending departure to Coasta Rica. However, as I entered the Whole Foods Market and completed my shopping, I did my best to tune out the onslaught of excessive sensory data from the bright, twinkling lights to the tinny sound jingling of hand bells, to the well-worn lyrics of the Christmas music that had taken over a record three D.C. area radio stations with 24/7 holiday music since the second week in November.

For some reason, despite my resolve not to waste any brain power on anything Christmas-related, as I checked out with my groceries, my conscious mind decided to pay attention to the lyrics of the annoyingly catchy tune blaring over the store speakers.

_"Bah, humbug!" No, that's too strong  
>'Cause it is my favorite holiday<br>But all this year's been a busy blur  
>Don't think I have the energy<br>To add to my already mad rush  
>Just 'cause it's 'tis the season.<br>The perfect gift for me would be_

_Completions and connections left from_  
><em>Last year, ski shop,<em>  
><em>Encounter, most interesting.<em>  
><em>Had his number but never the time<em>  
><em>Most of '81 passed along those lines.<em>

_So deck those halls, trim those trees_  
><em>Raise up cups of Christmas cheer,<em>  
><em>I just need to catch my breath,<em>  
><em>Christmas by myself this year.<em>

_Calendar picture, frozen landscape,  
>Chilled this room for twenty-four days,<br>Evergreens, sparkling snow  
>Get this winter over with!<em>

_Flashback to springtime, saw him again,  
>Would've been good to go for lunch,<br>Couldn't agree when we were both free,  
>We tried, we said we'd keep in touch.<em>

But, of course, we didn't. And, I know why, too. It was my choice, after all. But, what does that matter now? Why did I even choose to pay attention to that song in that moment, anyway? Moreover, why did that particular song elicit a thought of _him? _I must admit that I'm not really sure. Perhaps it was a way for the cosmos to mock me—if I believed in the actuality of such possibilities.

The song in question that had made me think of him after all that time was preformed by a little known band from the Midwestern United States called the Waitresses. I later looked up the details after the irksome lyrics got stuck in my head. Wikipedia, while still circumspect as a knowledge source for many things, is a veritable font of information on pop culture topics. The 1981 Christmas song gained moderate success, more so outside of the United States on the heels of the bands most famous song "I Know What Boys Like." Over the years, "Christmas Wrapping" has become a staple of the Christmas music onslaught that lasts for a minimum of six weeks and grows longer each year. And, unfortunately for me, it was the song and those irksome lyrics that made me think of _him_.

I didn't want to think of him—I _wouldn't _think of him. What was the point? I hadn't seen him in seven months. If things went as I'd planned, I'd never see him again. He's a bully and a liar and a stupid, stupid man. Although I'll reluctantly concede, in the aims of maintaining my pledge to be honest, that he _was _quite aesthetically pleasing, his looks aren't enough to compensate for his abominably offensive personality and his atrocious behavior towards me.

Yes, I was glad I'd told Zack to make certain that I never had to talk to Booth again. And, thinking back on that final conversation that I'd had with him, I was more certain than ever before that I'd made the right choice in giving Zack that directive.

"_Zack," Brennan had called to her intern, her voice sharp and brittle and still full of the indignant anger she'd felt in the hour since she'd left the J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building._

"_Yes, Dr. Brennan?" the young intern looked up from where he was staring at a slide of bone cells at extreme microscope magnification._

_Despite the tension of her rigid frame, the furrowed brow, flared nostrils, and flushed skin tone, her terse words did nothing to unsettle the future Dr. Addy. His non-emotional reaction to Brennan's hostile bearing was one of the things she loved most about the young man. He was calm, cool, detached—in a single word rational. Zack was so many things to which Brennan aspired, but that she feared she was only faking at portraying to the outside world in a semi-convincing manner at best. Truth to be told, it was his logical stoicism that had been the final reason to convince her to choose Zack when she'd been making her choice in who to hire as her intern. Yes, he was brilliant, but then again, he hadn't been the only brilliant applicant in a pool of very brilliant applicants. But, he had been the only genius who had withered under Brennan's gaze during their interview. And, it had been Zack's unflappability that set him a part from the other candidates—and ultimately won him the job. He displayed that keen aplomb as he stared at her, waiting for a response to his inquiry._

"_You're aware of the obnoxious FBI agent with whom we had the misfortune to work in identifying the remains that turned out to be Cleo Eller?" Brennan asked._

"_Of course," Zack said. "He had a very intimidating scowl when he was displeased. It would be hard to forget such a scowl. Why?"_

"_If he calls again, or attempts to make contact with me in any way, I don't want you to facilitate him in achieving that goal. I never want to speak to him ever again. Don't bother taking any telephone messages, don't bring me any of his correspondence or parcels, and don't accept deliveries. As far as I'm concerned, I don't know any Special Agent Seeley Booth. He never existed. Do you understand?" Brennan asked._

_Zack tilted his head and said, "To summarize, under no circumstances do you want me to put Agent Booth into contact with you, no matter how or why he may attempt to communicate with you?"_

"_Correct," Brennan said with a firm nod. _

"_And, you're certain that he's going to attempt to do so in the first place?" Zack asked with a tilt of his head._

_Brennan considered his words and then nodded. "Of course he's going to try to contact me. I'm me. Why wouldn't he?"_

"_I'm just making certain I understand the entire situation, Dr. Brennan," Zack said. _

"_Very well," Brennan replied. "Do you have any other questions?"_

"_No, Dr. Brennan," Zack shook his head. "I understand."_

And, Zack was as good as his word. Seven months later, I'd still had not heard one word from Seeley Booth. _Of course, I wouldn't. I gave Zack a direct order. There's no way to know how many times he's intercepted Booth's attempts to contact me. But, what do I care about that any way? _I thought to myself. "I don't—I don't care about Seeley Booth at all."

I think I said it more to convince myself than anything else as I took my cart and pushed it outside into the parking lot. As I began to unload my groceries into my car, half lost in thought, a shrieking piece of childish delight rang through the air drawing my attention. A tiny little boy with blonde hair, perhaps no older than two or three, was running unsteadily on his feet towards the entrance of a nearby Christmas tree lot tent that had been set up on the edge of the supermarket's shopping center. A tall dark haired man, wearing a dark sweatshirt, jeans, and sunglasses—most likely his father—disappeared in a blur after him shouting a single word that echoed on the cool night's breeze.

"Parks!"

I shook my head as the pair disappeared, annoyed at the interruption and inability of a parent to control their offspring, as my thoughts returned to Booth. Yes, I'll confess—it was glad I was never going to have to see him again. It was a good thing. A very good thing.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself….

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><p>-TBC-<p>

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><p><span>AN2: So, there you have it. Confession #1 went to Brennan. Confession #2 puts us back at the lab with Valley Fever and our favorite lockdown at the lab. Who might have a confession of his own to make, and what might an elf hat and a tank top have to do with said confession? If you want to know, click that little button down below and let me know what you think of our first start off out the gate—


	2. Year 2: Booth's First Confession

Christmas Confessions

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Every time Christmas rolled around, one of them found out they'd ended up facing the truth of some type of confession. And, each year, after said revelation, things never went as Booth and Brennan had planned.

A/N: Many thanks for all the reviews. I'm happy to see that at least some people are interested in this little concept. So, without further adieu, enter Special Agent Seeley Booth, stage left.

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><p>Year 2: Booth's First Confession<p>

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><p>I couldn't help myself when I did it. It was after midnight, it was late, it was quiet, everyone else was asleep, she was just sitting there so full of herself, and, well—I was still <em>very <em>high.

It's hard to describe the sensation of how I felt in that moment. I was so angry that I was stuck in the lab—I was in a place that I didn't want to be with people I didn't particularly like or even know, and I wasn't doing what I wanted to be doing—nope, not at all. All of that frustration had been dulled into this irksome, teeny tiny annoying point that I could mostly ignore thanks to whatever the hell the anti-fungal drugs were doing to my system. And, then I remembered it was Christmas, and Christmas is so cool, and I was the only one still up except for _her_, and so I did what seemed perfectly logical at the time—I grabbed Angela's elf hat, put it on, and went to spread some holiday cheer.

I suppose if I'd been sober I would've known that she'd only see the image of me in an elf hat as ridiculous and annoying, at best—because, well, she's the Jeffersonian's very own Grinch-in-Residence. I dunno, maybe I expected too much when I thought her shriveled shrink heart might grow three sizes, enough so that it was become this magical thing like a heart that approaches the normal ones that the rest of us were born with—stupid mistake, I know. Then, I went and found her, and look at how well that turned out. She cracked on me, Christmas, and God—all in the span of about five minutes. And, then, I turned around and just left. Now, I'm used to her insulting me. I can even brush off the insults to the Big Man, since I'm sure he's used to that sorta thing. But, in good conscience, I couldn't let her digs at Christmas, on Christmas Eve, go unchallenged. Besides, I'd dropped my elf-hat in the den of the Christmas Killer at some point after I grabbed it off of the table where she'd been working, and I was afraid she might do something like set it on fire in some Puritanical purge of holiday cheer when there was so little in the lab already. So, I turned around and went back to the platform.

By then, the Grinch's theme song had gotten stuck in my head, and I was having quite a good time half-humming it/half-singing the lyrics to my head. I allowed my head to bob slightly from side-to-side as I backtracked and made my way to where I'd left Oliver Cromwell in front of her microscope and kept singing:

_You're a monster, Mr. Grinch.  
>Your heart's an empty hole.<br>Your brain is full of spiders,  
>You've got garlic in your soul.<em>

_Mr. Grinch._  
><em>I wouldn't touch you, with a<em>  
><em>thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole.<em>

_You're a vile one, Mr. Grinch._  
><em>You have termites in your smile.<em>  
><em>You have all the tender sweetness<em>  
><em>Of a seasick crocodile.<em>  
><em>Mr. Grinch.<em>

At the sound of my approach, she turned around again and sighed. "And, you're back."

I rolled my eyes at her as I approached her work spot. "Don't get your tank top in a twist, Oliver. It's tight enough that you might start popping out all over the place if you do, and we wouldn't want that, since it would probably make me want to come over there and touch you, and do all the things in my mind that I've been wanting to do to you in a sexy non-partner kinda way for a while now—but, like the song says, I can't want to touch you with a thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole, so cool your jets. I just came for my hat because I dropped it somewhere, and I want it back, okay?"

She stared at me, and I'm not certain why she was giving me this look that was on her face—eyes slightly widened, face flushed, as she blinked at me several times. I stared back at her, and then realized that she probably didn't know why I'd called her Oliver.

"Oh," I said. "Lemme save you some time. You say 'I don't know what that means.' And, then I explain that I called you Oliver because you're the Christmas Killer like Oliver Cromwell was. Minus the whole belief-in-God thing you would've liked him. He hated the good stuff—the _bestest _stuff—about Christmas, too. He cancelled it, ya know? Christmas? He cancelled it in England in the 1640s. There were no presents or Christmas carols. And, no candy or baked goods or booze. He banned booze for Christmas, the Puritanical bastard."

"Wait," she said, as she suddenly recovered from when I called her Oliver at the beginning of our second conversation. "Did _you _just imply that _I _was puritanical?"

I shrugged my shoulders. Her big words didn't really make any sense to me at the time. She was just complaining again about her and me, and I didn't really want to listen to that again since she did that _all _the time. "I dunno, Bones," I told her. "You tell me."

"Boy," she replied. "You're _really _out of it."

"Naaaw," I replied, as I spied the hat on the floor near the foot of the chair I'd abandoned earlier. Bending down with a quick sweep of my hand, I grabbed it and stuck the elf hat back on my head. "I'm more with it than you are, Bones."

She stared at me, and I stared at her, and then I pointed at her tank top. "You really do need to get your bra size measured by someone who knows what in the hell they're doing. That thing is _way_ too tight. And, I'm not saying I don't appreciate it, but it doesn't set the right kinda tone for the rest of the eggheads, ya know? It might be too…stimulating for them."

Again, she had that wide-eyed look on her face as she finally asked, "Wait a minute, Booth."

"What?" I said, adjusting the hat on my head. "What can I do for you, Oliver?"

"Why do you keep staring at my tank top?" she finally blurted out.

My brow furrowed in confusion as I tried to make sense of her words. She couldn't be _that _obtuse, right? Shaking my head, I finally said, "Because it shows off everything you've got, and everything you've got to show off starts with a great pair of boobs? Duh, Bones."

Shaking my head, I turned away, not wanting to get into another argument about how large female breasts somehow indicated that Christ was a figment of my very overactive imagination. Not bothering to turn back, I merely called over my shoulder, "Merry Christmas, Oliver."

As I left the platform and decided where to go next since I still wasn't tired, I never saw her as her surprised look transitioned to a very knowing one as at least _she_ finally comprehended the truth of my impromptu confession—even if, at the time, I hadn't.

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><p>-TBC-<p>

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><p><span>AN2: Coming up next for year three—Brennan's just found out her father is still alive, Booth's told her she's a part of 'their' family, and Cam (unfortunately) is still hanging around as Booth's 'special' friend. Can a Christmas carol from Auntie Mame make things better than they seem? Stay tuned, and if you're so inclined, hit that little button below, and let me know what you think.~


	3. Year 3: Brennan's Second Confession

Christmas Confessions

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Every time Christmas rolled around, one of them found out they'd ended up facing the truth of some type of confession. And, each year, after said revelation, things never went as Booth and Brennan had planned.

A/N: I'm very happy that everyone who shared felt they enjoyed my take on the obligatory Bones slew of fan fic that comes out this time of year. I know you all have many potential options that can satisfy your B&B holiday jones, so I do thank those of you who are choosing to sample my humble offerings. And, now without further adieu… it's time for another confession.~

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><p>Year 3: Brennan's Second Confession<p>

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><p>For most of the weeks during any calendar month, the only difference between weekdays and weekends was a reduction in the presence of interns (but for Zack) and support personnel at the Jeffersonian. It was something I'd grown used to over the years, and it wasn't an issue that had ever really bothered me over the years<em>—<em>that was, until Booth. Approximately two days after he returned from a long weekend trip, the one that he'd spent with Cam over the Thanksgiving holiday, he started acting quite strange. 'Impatient' and 'antsy' aren't two words that I'd ever_—_well, at least under _normal _circumstances_—_use to describe my partner. However, the Monday afternoon he first saw me after his secret-but-no-so-secret trip to Philadelphia with Cam, Booth started to change, due in part, I would later find out because of his determination to 'spread some holiday cheer'.

At first, I thought it was because he was feeling that overwhelming sense of guilt he does tend to exhibit from time to time given his religious affiliation. After all, by the strictures of his denominational faith, engaging in a sexual relationship with a woman outside the bonds of matrimony was enough of a mortal sin to damn his soul to the immortal brimstone fires of hell for all eternity_—_if, indeed, such a place existed (a place that someone like me would end up likely, as well, given my blasphemy for non-belief). However, after the second or third day of his impatient behavior, I eventually decided that Booth's impatience had nothing to do with the fact that he was sleeping with Cam, and he was desperately trying to hide it from me for some inane reason. No, it didn't have to do with Cam at all. Instead, it was because of something else.

As far as Cam's concerned, it's not like it was all _that _much of a secret, anyway. Booth and Cam had been sleeping together for some time_—_at least since he'd broken off his on-again/off-again sexual trysting pattern with his ex, Rebecca. It's likely had been going on for even longer than that, but I just don't have any proof of that matter to back up my supposition. I've never really understood what the big deal is with Booth and his hang ups about issues of a sexual nature. Perhaps he has some type of sexual dysfunction or history of repressive behavior from his childhood that's made sex such a taboo subject for him that he'll never feel comfortable discussing it? I've often wondered if anyone he's ever trusted has ever told him that it's _not _that big a deal. For me, obviously, it's just _not _that big a deal. Sometimes sex is just sex.

I've never understood those individuals who get uptight and priggish about the matter. I'd be more concerned, truth to be told, if Booth _weren't_ engaging in an active sex life. After all, he's a handsomely attractive male in the prime of his life cycle where his hormones demand certain things of his body. An alpha male life Booth is supposed to copulate on a fairly regular basis. True, the biological imperative for a male like Booth to propagate the species by sowing his genetic material into as many fertile females as possible is no longer as necessary as it was once for the survival of the human race_—_but, even still. So, Booth is the type of person who _should _be having sex on a regular basis_—_and a lot of it. Thus, I don't know why he's bothering to keep the whole thing with Cam a secret, I just really don't.

So, he's having sex with Cam, and I don't even know why I'm thinking about it except it wasn't like I had much of a choice when Booth finally came bounding into my office that Monday afternoon, and in turn, _that _visit led to our Friday afternoon rendezvous/ At the end of the week, I found myself sitting in the front passenger's seat of his black SUV, in a parking lot, and not doing so because of an official homicide investigation. In staring at entrance to the busy store_—_one with which I was familiar, but rarely entered, unless it was for a _very_ specific and _necessary_ purpose_—_I knew I had an unhappy look of displeasure on my face. I also knew that I was being watched very, _very _carefully by my partner as he put the SUV in park and unbuckled his seat belt. Obviously, he was ready to go shopping even if I wasn't. However, I was heartened that I still had a chance to potentially get out of this situation without going into _that _store when Booth had left the car on as he watched me. He hadn't said a word since he'd pulled into the Seven Corners Center shopping mall in Falls Church. Now, he looked at me with an expectant look on his face.

Finally, turning over to look at him, I slowly shook my head_—_just as he knew I would.

"I don't want to go in," I told Booth.

"Bones," he said, a bit of a whine coming into his voice. "Come on, now. You know you want to_—_"

"No," I said with a firm shake of my head. "I know _you _want to_—_and you want me to want to, but I don't really want to, so why am I here again?"

"Because," Booth said as he turned in his seat to look at me. "I can give you three very good reasons."

Unbuckling my seat belt, I shifted to face him, my face clearly unimpressed with his summary of a spirited defense as to why I should go inside with him. I crossed my arms as I said, "Oh, really?"

"Yup," he replied with a firm nod.

"I'd be satisfied with just one very good reason," I muttered.

"First," Booth began. "Ever since I heard that damn Auntie Mame song on 97.1 when I was on the way over to the lab on Monday, that stupid song has been in my head_—_"

"What song?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"Ya know, Bones_—_'_For we need a little Christmas right this very minute/Candles in the window, carols at the spinet/Yes we need a little Christmas right this very minute/Hasn't snowed a single flurry, but Santa dear we're in a hurry/Climb down the chimney/Turn on the brightest string of lights I've ever seen/Slice up the fruit cake/It's time we've hung some tinsel on the evergreen bough/For I've grown a little leaner, grown a little colder/Grown a little sadder, grown a little older/And I need a little angel sitting on my shoulder/Need a little Christmas now__—_"

Booth had opened his mouth to draw another breath, and—to save what little remained of both my sanity and his, I quickly leaned over and placed my finger over his lips. "Booth, please. No more singing," I told him.

He frowned for a minute, stared at my finger, my eyes went to where my finger was touching the softness of his lips, and I quickly pulled it away. I nodded as I removed my finger, demanding of myself that I not blush at our intimate contact. '

"Sorry," he grinned sheepishly. "That song has been rattling around in my head all week. I can't help but sing it once I start that 'need a little Christmas' part of the refrain."

"That's quite all right," I told him. "Just don't do it again. Please." _And, then I won't have to touch you again, either_—___which would be a very good thing_.

"But, of course you wouldn't like Christmas carols, even the annoying ones, huh, Bones?" he grumbled. "You're such a Grinch," Booth said with a sad shake of his head. "Anyway," he continued as looked at me. "It was sorta like a sign from God that song was the last one I heard before I came into the lab, because it got stuck in my head, and made me realize how crappy your office is—"

"My office is not crappy!" I immediately countered, interrupting him, feeling a bit indignant at his criticism. "It's a professional space, and I prefer to keep it as such—"

"It's the only room in the entire lab that doesn't have any Christmas decorations, Bones," Booth said as he tilted his head at me. "The _only _one—there's not even a candy cane or a single red ribbon to be found. It looks like a room in Who-ville after the real Grinch struck. I mean, even Cam's autopsy suite has more holiday spirit—"

My nostrils flared at the mention of Cam, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his mention of his sexual partner. "I'm well aware of the layout, design, and décor of Dr. Saroyan's office, Booth, since I work there, and I'm in it more than you are, thank you very much." _Or, at least I used to be...and should be, Booth._

"Ya know, you don't have to call her 'Dr. Saroyan' all the time. 'Cam' works just fine—" Booth began tentatively, his tone taking on a bit more informality than I was used to hearing in his voice.

"No," I interrupted him again. "I find that I much prefer to keep things professional at the lab where my colleagues are concerned. Her name is Dr. Saroyan, and I will continue to refer to her as such, Booth."

He blinked at me for several long seconds, a true frown of displeasure crossing his face for a short time before it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

"So, anyway, Bones," Booth eventually continued. "Like I said, your office needs some holiday cheer so it's not depressing all those squints that need a good atmosphere with positive energy vibes to do that squint stuff you guys all do so well."

"And, that's your first really good reason?" I asked, unable to hide my disenchantment from my voice.

"Yup," Booth nodded.

"Well, maybe it's a good thing you've got two more really good reasons, Booth, because I'm not certain the first one counts," I said snippily.

Sighing, Booth said, "Reason #2, like the song says, Bones—we need a little Christmas right now, and I consider it my personal duty to get you in the holiday spirit, so I'm doing my good deed as an honorary Santa's elf and doing what needs to be done to get you ready for Christmas."

Booth's words evoked a certain flash of memory in my mind of the previous year's Christmas when we'd had a particularly interesting conversation late night on Christmas Eve. Last year, he'd been high on his antifungal medications, wearing Angela's elf hat, and had given me an almost lewd compliment about my breasts. I thought, at the time, that maybe something might come of it, but it never did. And, then Rebecca and then Cam reentered Booth's sex life, and I hadn't thought of him in that context for quite a while. Shaking _those _particular thoughts away, as I often did, I finally met his gaze as I asked, "And, really good reason number three, Booth?"

"Because, Bones," Booth said as he nodded his head at the large sign that said 'Michael's Arts and Crafts'. "This is one of the best places to get cool Christmasy stuff to decorate. I love coming here—"

"Then, you go in, and I'll be happy to wait patiently in the car," I said with a very pleased look on my face.

"No way," Booth said with a shake of his head. "I can't do that, Bones."

"Why not?" I said, narrowing my eyes in suspicion at his very quick response.

"Because," Booth said. "It's a really neat store, but it's a store for chicks, Bones. Everyone knows that. Men can't go in there by themselves. I'm a guy, Bones, and they'll look at me funny if I go in there without a woman. It's a cool place, Bones, but I can't go there without you. Ergo, we're both going in there, right now."

Sighing, I looked at him in disbelief. "Really?"

Booth nodded in reply.

"You dragged me all the way out here, away from the lab, on the pretext of spreading holiday cheer, just because you wanted a female to accompany you to an arts and crafts store so that you weren't judged by society as strange for being masculine and having an interest in home décor?" I asked.

Shaking his head emphatically, Booth muttered, "Don't say it like _that_, Bones. I don't have an interest in home décor, I just want to check out the ornaments and Christmas village stuff—"

Rolling my eyes again, I sighed. "Oh, fine," I finally told him.

At my words, Booth looked over at me and a wide-eyed grin fell on his face. "Really?" he asked.

Moving to grab my purse, I had my hand on the SUV's passenger door handle and nodded reluctantly. "I mean, since we're here already, I suppose we can run in as long as we don't take too long."

Booth's grin brightened at my words. "Great, Bones. Just great—"

And, as I got out of the SUV and walked after Booth who was practically jogging towards the store's entrance, I shook my head and couldn't help but wonder why Booth was here with me when Cam was his girlfriend (of sorts) —and, more importantly, why I was discontented with the later part of that statement.

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><p>-TBC-<p>

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><p>AN2: So, two confessions for the price of one there. Who knew that Booth had a thing for Michael's, huh? But, who can blame him...like he said, it _is_ a cool store. Anyway, the infamous mistletoe kiss is up next. Yes, it's been done, done, and redone _ad nauseum ad infinitum_ in the world of Bones fan fic lore. But, the question is…can something old be made new again? Hopefully, the answer is yes as I do think I've got a bit of a different spin for you all (as usual). So, what role does that piece of gum Booth inherited from Brennan play in his next confession...and who might Booth be having the conversation with where his confession come into play? If you want to know, stay tuned…and if you feel like it, I humbly beseech those who want to toss a review or two my way. Thanks in advance! :)~


	4. Year 4: Booth's Second Confession

Christmas Confessions

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Every time Christmas rolled around, one of them found out they'd ended up facing the truth of some type of confession. And, each year, after said revelation, things never went as Booth and Brennan had planned.

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><p>Year 4: Booth's Second Confession<p>

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><p>To say I was a little shaky when I left her office is a bit of an understatement. I never thought I'd actually say this, but it really does seem like her kiss does have more than one type of magical power. In the three years since we'd shared our first and only kiss, somehow she's apparently attained the magical power of being able to turn knees to mush. Because, I gotta tell you, when I walked out of her office, chewing her gum, the taste of her still lingering in my mouth in more ways than one, my legs had morphed into this rubbery consistency that made me shaky on my feet. I wobbled a bit as I exited her office, eager to find a safe place that was away from both prying eyes and <em>her<em>. I needed just a few minutes to pull myself together and get things straight in my head...and fast before anyone saw how wonky I actually felt.

Stumbling out of her office, I took a quick look around and quickly spotted the door to a janitorial closet a few feet away from where I stood. It was, in a word, perfect. My decision made, I quickly headed towards it, all the while absentmindedly chewing _her _gum.

As I chomped down and furiously began to chew on the spearmint piece of gum, two thoughts ran through my mind—not counting the order I'd already given my brain to find a safe place so I could catch my breath for a few minutes. First, as I continued chewing her gum, I realized it was the rather boring kind. Now, I don't think this really surprised me because, if she was going to chew gum, of course it would be a practical flavor. She told me herself that the reason she popped the piece of gum before she locked those gorgeous lips on me that she did it so that she would have sweet-smelling breath. She needn't have worried. When we kissed, of course, her breath was perfect...not that I noticed, of course. But, the more important question is why did she even care in the first place if it was just supposed to be a quick peck on the lips between friends? Anyway, it made perfect sense that she chose some boring-ass and practical flavor like spearmint or wintergreen. I like to think that I don't shock easily, but I think I would've been shocked if she's kissed me, and I ended up with some Juicy Fruit or Bubble Yum-flavored gum in my mouth. Now, _those _are good flavors.

God, how I miss the Big League Chew most of all. The original flavor was always good, but I love the grape, too—that might've been my most favorite. Of course, I haven't had it in years. Now, that's not because I haven't seen it every so often in the stores, but I can't chew it anymore. Aside from the fact that gum chewing is one tell—a nervous tick, if you will—that a sniper can't afford to have, one little fact that I don't like to admit is that I have pretty weak dental enamel. The dentist says it's genetic, but if I started chewing the gum I love, I know I'd end up with a minimum of four different cavities every time I go to get my teeth cleaned. And, spending my free time in the AM before work in a dentist's chair is not my idea of having a fun time. Plus, I like to avoid having to take pain meds if I can. Having to turn into this detached airhead on vicodin that I always more into when I'm on painkillers because of my back crapping our or getting shot is one thing, but for dental work? Nope, that's not a good enough reason in my opinion. So, since I can't stand this sugar-free crap like she apparently chews, I'd just rather do without.

I had just made it to the safety of the janitorial closet, my hand on the door knob, when I heard a small cough behind me. Slowly turning around, I had to refrain from rolling my eyes when I saw the King of the Vulcans staring at me with those beady little eyes of his. Now, I can't not give Zach his due. He's brilliant—almost as brilliant as his former professor, but not quite. Let's face it, no one will ever be as brilliant as _she_ is, but Zach does come close. That's probably why she agreed to take him on as her graduate student in the first place. Anyway, he was looking at me with those unexpressive dark eyes of his, and I couldn't help but wonder, as he stared at me, how long he'd been watching me.

"Agent Booth."

His single statement of my name kinda gave me the creeps in its flat monotone voice. But, then, whenever he spoke I tended to get that vibe. Moreover, his stare was so intent that I couldn't help but notice that he seemed to be more direct with me than normal—brash, even. Now, it's not a thing I like to brag about, but I do know for a fact that I've intimidated the crap out of the kid before, so a part of me was mildly curious as to why he was staring at me in a very unintimidated manner. It seemed very out of character for him, this direct non-passive aggressive thing.

"Yeah?" I finally responded after I had looked at him for several long seconds, and he hadn't back down.

"A moment of your time, if you please," he said with a nod.

Okay, now _this _was new. Since when did Zach had the _cajones_ to all but demand 'a moment of my time'? Huh. Now, what's going on here— My curiosity truly piqued by his _very_ uncharacteristic behavior, I kinda wanted to see what the little cyborg wanted. So, for a lark, I agreed to give him his minute.

"Yeah, Zach?" I asked, leveling my gaze at him as I politely refrained from making my customary threat to shoot him in the interests of said curiosity.

"I'm quite certain that you're unaware of this, but I felt it logical to inform you that I just saw you kissing Dr. Brennan in her office while Ms. Julian looked on," Zach began in his irritatingly nasal voice as soon as my response had given him leave to continue speaking.

The way he said that he'd seen the two of us kissing made it sound so much more boring than it actually was that I wanted to slap the kid silly for it on mere principle. But, after my initial surge of annoyance lessened slightly with Zach—since it never really ever goes away with him, it just dulls a bit—I couldn't help but wonder why he felt it important enough to tell me that he'd just seen me kissing his mentor (or his mentor kissing me, as that was really the more appropriate descriptor for what really happened, excuses involving puckish blackmail or not pushed aside).

"I always knew if there was a peeping squint in the lab it was probably going to be you, Zach," I finally joked, trying to figure out how best to speed this conversation along to what was certain to be a conclusion that would be quite satisfying since it meant I didn't have to talk to the Data-squint anymore.

At my words, Zach didn't even both to give me the courtesy of a pat 'I don't understand what that means' like his mentor did in such occasions. Instead, he just blinked. Sighing—and feeling my frustration increase to a level that was beyond the level of dull annoyance I mentioned earlier, I let my hand fall away from the door knob and placed it on my hip instead.

Shaking me head after I sighed in ever increasing ire, I nodded at him and said, "Yeah? So what?"

Narrowing his eyebrows, Zach replied, "Given the clear signs of physical arousal that you exhibited after the cessation in your foreplay activities with Dr. Brennan, I find it only appropriate that I—"

"Wait," I interrupted him flushing a bit in embarrassment at his words. "What the hell? Foreplay activities? Physical arousal? Where in the hell did you get that I'm physical aroused? There's no reason for you to think that at all, okay?"

"Yes," Zach nodded. "There is."

"Whoa," I said with a firm shake of my head. "Now, wait just a second there, buddy. First, I'm not aroused. She's my _partner, _Zach. You know that. Second, the only reason Bones and I kissed—and _she _kissed _me _really, FYI—was because Caroline blackmailed her into it for this Christmas thing with her dad at the jail. Third, there wasn't anything romantic or sexy about it, Zach. It was like the kisses I used to have to give my really bad blind dates because it was the right thing to do, not because I was into them or hoping I could make a run at first base, okay?"

"Your physical reaction, as I was explaining, belies that explanation, Agent Booth," Zach said plainly.

"No, it doesn't," I insisted. "I'm not aroused about anything, okay, Zach?" I was _seriously _recontemplating amending my stance on the threat to shoot him in that minute. I _really _was.

"When you exited Dr. Brennan's office, your skin was flushed, your pupils were dilated, your respiration was shallow, and you had a rather dazed look on your face that indicated intense mental distraction," Zach countered. "Countless anthropological and biological studies have indicated that such reactions to physical stimuli have a sexual component of cause."

"You know what, Zach?" I said, suddenly feeling more than a bit uncomfortable about the turn this conversation had taken. "I don't really want to hear this."

"Why not?" Zach replied. "I'm entitled to my opinion, Agent Booth, and—"

"And, opinions are like assholes, Zach," I snapped. "Yeah, everyone's got one, but what in the hell makes you think I really care about hearing yours? Because I don't, so just shut the hell up, okay."

Considering his words for several seconds, Zach tilted his head as he processed the information. He then slowly nodded and said, "Very well. I accept the logical validity of your statement."

"Great," I muttered. "It's the highlight of my day, I sure can tell ya—"

"But," Zach continued. "I still find it only prudent to say one final thing on the matter, Agent Booth. Dr. Brennan is not only a colleague and mentor, but also a close, personal friend. As someone who knows her quite well, I think it appropriate to say that I don't think it's very fair of you to react to her in the way you did, unless you have some reciprocal sexual interest in her. Because, if you don't, it's just really not treating her very equitably. And, since I do believe you to be a better man than that, I hope you'd think twice before doing anything that she might misconstrue if you're uncertain of your own intent in the situation. In short, I hope you know that you shouldn't act one way regarding Dr. Brennan…unless you're prepared to follow it up and do what you need to do to back up your actions with the appropriate behavior towards her in that same manner. That's all I have to say. Goodbye."

Quickly turning sharply on his feet, Zach was gone before I could recover my wits enough to take apart his squint-speak laden diatribe, process it, and come up with any type of suitable response. I blinked several times in the vague direction in which he'd disappeared, wondering how in the hell I'd just been given what amounted to 'the talk' by my partner's scrawny robotic former graduate student.

Shaking my head in disbelief at the way this day had gone, I glanced down at my watch and realized I needed to get home to change before I ran over to Rebecca's to say goodbye to Parker before they left for their damn ski trip. As I walked out to where I'd parked my SUV, one of my favorite Christmas carols from when I was a kid jumped into my head, and I couldn't help but chuckle as I wondered what Zach would make of the lyrics given what he'd just told me.

_Wow! Mommy's kissing Santa Claus  
>I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus<br>Underneath the mistletoe last night  
>She didn't see me creep<br>Down the stairs to have a peep  
>She thought that I was tucked up<br>In my bedroom, fast asleep_

_Then I saw Mommy tickle(tickle tickle ,Santa Claus) Santa Claus_  
><em>Underneath his beard so snowy white<em>  
><em>Oh, what a laugh it would have been<em>  
><em>If Daddy had only seen Mommy kissing Santa Claus last night<em>

In a way, was Zach giving me the talk because he thought he saw the woman who was like a second mother to him kissing a would-be Santa Claus under some mistletoe? If so, I could sorta see why he said what he said to me even still knowing that there was a 50/50 chance he might suffer severe physical pain if he went through with confronting me. But, the more I thought about it as I approached my SUV, the more I realized that he was right. I'd been so wrapped up in feeling miserable about not having Parker for the holiday that I hadn't thought about what Christmas was like for her at a time of year I know she's hated since she was 15.

So, yeah—as much as I hate to admit it, Zach's right. I need to do better by her…and I think I'm going to start by making sure that, come hell or high water, she gets her Christmas tree after all.

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><p>-TBC-<p>

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><p>AN2: Coming up next—a somewhat obscure Cyndi Lauper Christmas carol sets the scene as Booth and Brennan unintentionally establish their first holiday tradition. Stay tuned!


	5. Year 5: Brennan's Third Confession

Christmas Confessions

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Every time Christmas rolled around, one of them found out they'd ended up facing the truth of some type of confession. And, each year, after said revelation, things never went as Booth and Brennan had planned.

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><p>Year 5: Brennan's Third Confession<p>

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><p>I didn't really want to call him, but it wasn't like I had much of a choice. I was supposed to be half way to the Sudan by now. While I know that traveling on December 24th can be considered an idiotic move by some, it's not like there's a <em>tremendous <em>amount of travel for the holidays between Washington D.C. and Khartoum via JFK and Cairo. But, when a freak blizzard dumps more than 14 inches of snow on the D.C. metro area in less than nine hours—turning our nation's capital into some type of idyllic winter wonderland cloaked in white—it does have a tendency to shut down things like airports. It seemed like thousands of people were sequestered within the confines of Reagan National Airport. Unlike some, I was lucky. I could take my first class ticket, my purse, my carry-on laptop bag, and leave instructions for my luggage to be shipped back to my apartment when it was finally recovered from wherever it currently resided within the bowels of the hell that was the DC airport luggage system. Yes, I could take all these things and exit the airport and go home, unlike some less lucky soul. Unfortunately, I didn't park my car in long-term parking since I was going to be gone for almost a month. Rental cars were all checked out. And, a long line waited in a tirelessly irksome cue to battle one another for the occasional taxi cabs that were few and far between. And, so, unless I wanted to spend the night in the airport, I really didn't have a choice but to call him since Angela and my father had already left town for Texas and North Carolina respectively. He was the only one still in DC with a car, and so it was Booth's number I dialed with a plea for help.

I don't know why I was surprised when he didn't bother to ask me what had happened when I had only managed to say 'Please, Booth, I need your help.' That was, apparently, enough for my partner. His following words of 'Where are you?' were followed by a short pause before he told me to 'hang tight' and that he'd be there as soon as he could.

It turns out that Booth's best wasn't all too bad….34 minutes in a blizzard. No, it wasn't too terrible at all. However, while I awaited him, I wondered what I would do once he picked me off. I had no food at my apartment, so supplies of any kind. Yes, I would have a warm place to stay so that a roof over my head kept the snow away—and I would have a place to sleep that was comfortable, but not much else. As I contemplated my options, the airport PA system played a looped string of Christmas music, apparently designed to distract weary travelers from the misery of their prolonged experience at DCA.

The tune was a catchy one, and I found myself humming it as I waited for Booth, despite the fact that I'd never heard it before, and it wasn't one of the traditional songs simply covered by the musical artist, so I wasn't really certain I knew the lyrics but for the one refrain that got stuck in my head.

_Hey Louie, life is sweet  
>I can't be bitter<br>When you're here with me  
>Hey Louie, no regrets<em>

_Holding on to things_  
><em>That you ought to forget<em>  
><em>Well, it doesn't matter tit for tat<em>  
><em>'Cause what you give<em>  
><em>You get it back<em>  
><em>It don't matter anymore<em>

_When love is knocking at your door_  
><em>It feels like Christmas<em>  
><em>Just like Christmas<em>  
><em>It feels like Christmas with you,<em>  
><em>Everytime I see ya<em>  
><em>Everytime I hear ya<em>  
><em>Everytime I'm near ya,<em>  
><em>I'd be happy<em>  
><em>Because it feels like Christmas<em>  
><em>Just like Christmas<em>  
><em>It feels like Christmas<em>

A short while later, his familiar black SUV was pulling up in front of the arrivals terminal, and I climbed into the SUV with a weary smile on my face.

"Hey, Booth," I grinned.

"Hiya, Bones," he nodded, seemingly quite pleased to see me. "Hell of a storm we've got here, huh?"

"My connecting flight out of D.C. to Khartoum was cancelled because of the blizzard," I explained.

Shrugging his shoulders slightly once he saw that I was buckled in, Booth pulled out into the meager flow of traffic. "I figured at much."

"I couldn't retrieve my luggage, but I determined it was better to spend the night in my own bed than to camp out in the airport," I murmured as he continued to drive us back into downtown. "Thanks for coming to get me."

"Not a problem, Bones," Booth said with a small shake of his head. "I was just watching some old holiday specials with Jared, so you kinda added some excitement into what was an otherwise dreary day."

"Are you certain?" I asked, my voice clearly hesitant. "I don't mean to impose on your holidays celebrations."

Shaking his head, Booth said, "Without Parker, it's not much of a celebration, Bones." He stopped and then flashed a grin at me as he said, "Besides, with you here, things just got a whole hell of a lot better, so I'm good."

I tilted my head as I considered his words and nodded.

"You hungry?" he asked.

As if it had decided to perfectly choreograph a response that would give me away no matter what I told him—if it was anything other than the truth—my stomach rumbled. Booth quirked an eyebrow at me as he looked away from the road for a couple of seconds before returning it to concentrate on driving. When he did so, I couldn't help but notice another grin was on his face as he chuckled at me.

"I'll take that as a yes?" he laughed.

Frowning, I reluctantly nodded. "I didn't get a chance to eat because I thought I'd have dinner on the plane. I know I don't have a lot of food back at my place—in fact, I know I don't, but I'm sure I can figure out something."

"Nope," Booth said with a sharp shake of his head. "Not gonna happen, Bones."

"What?" I quickly responded.

"No need to worry about food at your place," Booth said.

Looking at him as I narrowed my eyes in suspicion, I asked, "And, why's that?"

"Because," Booth explained. "Like I said, before you called, I was going out of my mind with boredom. It's Christmas Eve, and you're not spending it alone at that tomb of an apartment of yours—especially when there aren't any yum yums there."

"'Yum yums'?" I couldn't help but snicker.

"Yup," Booth nodded. "'Yum yums'. And, that's a technical term, just for the record."

"Ahhh," I laughed. "So, where am I going then?"

"My place," Booth grinned. "Plenty of food, booze, and yum yums to keep us all settled to wait out the blizzard."

Narrowing my eyes, I considered his words. I knew better than to challenge him when I saw a certain determined glint in his eyes, especially one that he tended to get on Christmas Eve. Shaking my head slightly, I allowed myself a small smile as I said, "Do you at least have Kahlua?"

"Yup," Booth said as his grin grew even wider. "For the hot chocolate?"

I nodded myself in response, recalling a particularly dangerous night a few weeks ago that had ended up in both of us sprawled all over his catch with one of hell of a hot chocolate hangover the next day. Even still, it had been fun, although there was no way I was going to confess _that _little tidbit of information to him—

"Okay," I said with a mock sigh. "Christmas at the Booth abode it is, then…but only because my flight was cancelled because of the blizzard, Booth."

"Of course, Bones," Booth grinned at me again. "Of course."

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><p>-TBC-<p>

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><p>AN: Next up: Booth contemplates how miserable his holiday really is without being able to spend it with Parker, despite the fact that he and Brennan share their new tradition for the second year in a row…and all to the bucolic beat of Dean Martin's blues. Stay tuned!


	6. Year 6: Booth's Third Confession

Christmas Confessions

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Every time Christmas rolled around, one of them found out they'd ended up facing the truth of some type of confession. And, each year, after said revelation, things never went as Booth and Brennan had planned.

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><p>Year 6: Booth's Third Confession<p>

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><p>I like to think that I'm not the type of guy who's easily surprised. I mean, I consider myself to be a pretty good reader of people. So, when you can figure out just what a person's capable of—it's better to overestimate someone than to underestimate then—it usually turns out that I don't get surprised very often. But, if there was as single person who might be able to make a claim at being the one individual who might be able to say she came close to surprising me on a regular basis, it was my partner.<p>

I hadn't been looking forward to that Christmas for several weeks—ever since I'd found out that Parker had actually _wanted_ to go to Quebec for the holidays with Rebecca and Drew, I'd been rather depressed. I knew I was being particularly moody, and that my moods could make things more difficult for the squint squad than they needed to be. But, I couldn't help it. It was my favorite time of year, and it was going to suck because one of the most important people in my life was going to be over six hundred miles away in another friggin' country. I wasn't happy about it. Then, to make matters worse, I interrupted a bank robbery, got blown up by a would-be Kris Kringle bank robber, and was spattered with icky people bits. All in all, it was a pretty damn lousy day.

I suspected it was going to go from bad to worse after I'd had my hands and various parts of my body bagged with plastic wrap. All in all, even if I were into the whole synthetic sheath fetish thing, trying to conduct preliminary witness investigations while I was trussed up like a securely tied bag of an anal-retentive woman's trash bag is a damn near impossible thing to do. I suppose I should just be glad that Cam let me ride to the Jeffersonian with her. She's come to know me well enough over the years to know when I'm in a pissy mood, and she put that skill to good use on the ten-minute car ride to the lab. However, to fill the silence, she had flicked on the radio. The dulcet tones of Dean Martin—one of the crooners I actually usually really like when it comes to classic Christmas music—soon filled the small confines of the lab van as Cam drove down Massachusetts Avenue, navigated her way through the roundabout, and turned onto Constitution Avenue.

_The jingle bells are jingling  
>The streets are white with snow<br>The happy crowds are mingling  
>But there's no one that I know<em>

_I'm sure that you'll forgive me  
><em>_If I don't enthuse_  
><em>I guess I've got the Christmas blues<br>I've done my window shopping_

_There's not a store I've missed_  
><em>But what's the use of stopping<em>  
><em>When there's no one on your list<em>  
><em>You'll know the way I'm feeling<em>  
><em>When you love and you lose<em>  
><em>I guess I've got the Christmas blues<em>

Letting out an exaggerated sigh, Cam spared a quick glance over at me, but said nothing. I was fully prepared when we pulled into the Jeffersonian parking substructure for the day to go from bad to worse. And, then I was wheeled into the Bones Room to be treated and processed as the evidence I was. However, sometime in between being treated like the squint squad's favorite ball of yarn and being stripped down to my boxers and socks by my partner, my day went from fairly crappy to fairly excellent. Now, I'm not going to say that it had anything whatsoever to do with the fact that, at one point, she ended up on her knees in front of me in a way that I've dreamed of so many times over the year that I've lost count. Who knows what would've happened if Cam hadn't walked in when she did.

I admit it, in that moment, with her hands on me, I wasn't really in my right mind. I was just trying to keep myself from doing something stupid like bending down and kissing her—and believe me, _that _particular thought _did _most assuredly cross my mind. I also was trying to figure out what in the hell I was going to do if she insisted on taking my boxers, too. As I said, she's one of the few people who's ever had the odd opportunity to surprise me. So, I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd said, "Booth, I need your boxers, too, so please stand still while I take them off of you." And, if _that _like bit of fantasy had actually had become reality, I know I would've done something a _lot _more stupid than just try to kiss her. But, Cam did come in and interrupt us, and she didn't ask me—err, tell me, really since we all know she doesn't really ask—to take off my boxers.

But, all in all, things _did_ get better after that point. I scored an invitation to Christmas dinner, I wasn't going to be alone, and over all, the next few days managed to soothe the balm of my regret after having wasted so much of the holiday season brooding.

And, that was how I found myself sitting next to my more than slightly inebriated partner, on her couch, staring at her Christmas tree at three o'clock in the morning on what was now Christmas Day.

Both of us were in an extremely mellow mood, and the soft music of the local radio station playing those earlier twenty-four hour blocks of holiday music—the ones that had annoyed me so much on the day of the bank robbery—now actually were quite pleasing to me. It turned out that with a few spiked hot chocolates in her, my partner could be quite the little song bird when she wanted to be, and I very much enjoyed it when she was relaxed enough to cut loose like that and do the singing/humming thing she had going on that evening.

As we sat next to each other on her couch, I sipped what was my third—no, fourth, I think, maybe…I don't remember exactly since I'd lost count—hot chocolate. I was working very hard to resist slipping my arm around her, and she was making it very, very hard for me not to do given the fact that she'd kicked off her heels quite a long time ago and had pulled up her feet onto the couch before she wrapped one arm around her knees and used the other to hold her hot chocolate mug. So as not to lose her balance, she was leaning into my side, and I was fairly happy with how things were going in that moment given how much the Kahlua had dulled my inhibitions.

"Booth?" she said softly, when she stopped humming to the sounds of 'Winter Wonderland'.

"Yeah, Bones?" I replied quietly.

"I have something to tell you," she said, a small smile on her face belying the seriousness of her words.

"Yeah, Bones?" I repeated.

"I find that I'm very glad that the snow made it imprudent for you to leave when you wanted to earlier," she said. "I'm also very glad that Hodgins volunteered to drop my father and cousin off at his apartment and her hotel before the snow got too bad so that they didn't have to reside in my abode this evening "

"Really, Bones?" I asked with a small chuckle. "And, why's that? Are you afraid that you'd have to drink this Kahlua all by your lonesome?"

Shaking her head, she smiled a secretive smile as she said—her lips, no doubt, loosened by the spiked beverage in her hand—"No, Booth. I have no problem consuming any type of liquor when I really want to."

"Then, what is it, Bones?" I asked indulgently.

"I—" her voice trailed off slightly as she blinked at me several times and then smiled as she said, "Do you remember last year when the blizzard caused my flight out of D.C. to be delayed?"

"Sure I do," I nodded. "You saved me from having to spend Christmas Eve with just Jared."

"And, you brought me back to your apartment, and we stayed up all night talking and listening to Christmas carols and drinking the hot chocolate with Kalhua," she reminisced. "Do you remember?"

"Of course, Bones," I said, turning my head to look at her with a smile on my face. "It was one of the best Christmas Eves I've had in a really long time."

"Me, too," she said. "Last year was the best Christmas Eve that I'd had in many, many years, Booth. It was better than any Christmas I've ever spent at any dig—it was the best one that I've had since I was a little girl."

"Awww, Bones," I chuckled. "Is this your way of telling me you didn't have a good Christmas the year we were on lockdown in the lab because of the Valley Fever quarantine?"

"While I did find you to be quite amusing while you were high on the anti-fungal drugs that particular Christmas, the answer to your question is…no. I think last year was much better…and, so, I have to tell you I was infinitely pleased when you agreed to stay tonight so that we could share another Christmas Eve, Booth. We've done it two years in a row, and I think that makes it a tradition, doesn't it?"

Taking the last swig of my hot chocolate, and feeling somewhat adventurous, I placed the mug on the coffee table. She complained a bit as I shifted my position, but when I turned back to face her, leaning in so that my face was only a couple of inches from hers, I saw something flash in her eyes that I didn't recognize. Not really caring that I couldn't make sense of it through the buzz I had going, I said, "So, does this mean that you're not going to kick me out into the cold in my impaired state, Bones?"

"No," she smiled with a small shake of her head. "You know the guest bedroom's all yours."

"And, if I want to stay here all night watching the snow and Christmas tree lights with you instead?" I countered, feeling a bit emboldened by the smell of her shampoo wafting to my nostrils.

"I'd say, but for my concern over what that would do to your back, I'd be quite amenable to that suggestion, Booth," she told me.

"Great," I replied. "Because that's _exactly _what I want to do."

"Agreed," she nodded with a smile.

And, then, that's when I made that year's particular confession in the form of one specific action. Leaning in, I gently placed a kiss on her cheek. Pulling away slowly, I smiled at her as I said, "Merry Christmas, Bones."

Blinking at me several times, her eyes slightly dazed—not from the alcohol, as I'd thought at the time, but would much later learn stemmed from something much more emotional in her response—she smiled as she said quite happily, "Merry Christmas, Booth."

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><p>-TBC-<p>

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><p>AN2: Unfortunately, everyone knows what has to happen during year seven (season 6) —and it's not a coincidence that we're due for Brennan's fourth and final confession. A bit of angst is on the way, but if you can stick through it and make it to Booth's final confession in the last chapter, I promise you that it'll be worth it. So, even if this story is a bit delayed in it's posting schedule (I'd originally anticipated posting the last chapter on Christmas Day, but, oh well—better late than never, right?), I'd happily accept any belated Christmas gifts in the form of reviews. Go ahead…see that little button down there marked 'review'…you know you want do and want to click it, so what are you waiting for….? :)


	7. Year 7: Brennan's Fourth Confession

Christmas Confessions

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Every time Christmas rolled around, one of them found out they'd ended up facing the truth of some type of confession. And, each year, after said revelation, things never went as Booth and Brennan had planned.

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><p>Year 7: Brennan's Fourth Confession<p>

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><p>If you'd asked me last Christmas where I thought I'd be this Christmas, I don't know what answer I might've given you. I like to think that it might've been a hopeful one after the damn near perfect holiday that I had last year. Last year was so important for so many reasons. It was the first year that I'd made the conscious decision not to leave the country for an archeological dig or volunteer on a humanitarian mission. True, I had contemplated leaving for El Salvador for about the proverbial span of five minutes before my dad talked me out of it—but, in the end, I'm so glad he did. By doing that, my father laid the ground work for me to have what was the <em>best <em>Christmas I'd had since I was a little girl. My home was decorated for the season just like my Mom used to decorate our house. I cooked a huge meal and ate with my friends and family on Christmas Eve just like I used to. And, after everyone else had left, and it had started to snow, Booth agreed to stay the night. We didn't sleep together—err, I should say we didn't have sex that night. Now, after everything that's happened in the past year, a part of me has to wonder what might've happened if we had. I think I can feel safe in saying that I know if we had actually had sex _last_ Christmas, I wouldn't be spending _this _Christmas alone.

For the first time in four years, I wouldn't be with him on Christmas. I wouldn't see him on Christmas. Our impromptu tradition that we had started two years ago—and carried on last year to make it an actual tradition—had turned out to be rather short-lived, after all. Despite how much I might wish it to be otherwise, in a particularly useless move since wishing never makes anything come true, I wouldn't be with him at his place on Christmas Eve. And, he wouldn't be with me at my place on Christmas Eve. There would be no staying up all through the night, listening to Christmas carols, and drinking hot chocolate mixed with the Kahlua liquor that I now get nauseous when I smell. We wouldn't fall asleep cuddling on the couch, and he wouldn't wake up in the morning and ask me to crack his back for him in what was both a practical maneuver and a simple excuse that we both knew was so that we could touch each other.

No, this year my apartment looked like it had on any other day of the year. There was no Christmas tree decorated brightly in the corner, there were no lengths of shiny garland decking my bookshelves, or strands of lights wrapped around the outline of my window. My stockings and ornaments stayed in boxes in storage, and the entire place was cold and dark and empty—just like it should be because he wasn't there and I wasn't there and we won't ever be there again together because I was such a damn fool.

What a _fool _I've been.

This year, instead of spending time with me, he's with the woman he loves. He's with his girlfriend. He's with Hannah. He's not with me. And, the entire reason he's not with me is because I was an idiot and broke his heart last year. I broke his heart, sent him away, told him to leave me alone, and he did.

And, then I realized I'd made a mistake.

What a _fool _I've been.

Last month, I don't know why I did what I did when we had that damn conversation in his SUV on that horrible night. I was exhausted and overtly emotional and crying and in such pain for so many different reasons that night. And, for a split second, he was there—and it was just like it used to be. He was there, and he was with me, and for just a little bit of time, I could pretend that it was just like things had used to be. But, for those few minutes of happiness, I paid a dear price. I'd never intended to tell him, you know? I really had planned to go to my grave carrying that piece of information with me. There was no reason for him to know. It served no purpose to tell him then. He's happy. He has the relationship with the woman he wants. He's happy now. So, why did I tell him? _Why_?

After that night in Woodland, I didn't want to see him again. I won't lie. I was so embarrassed about what had happened between us. I was mortified, really. But, I'd knew I'd compound my error if I didn't do my best to pretend that nothing had happened, nothing had happened between us. So, I put on a brave face. I took all my feelings—sadness, regret, embarrassment, and many others—and I put them in a metaphorical box and locked in away deep down in my psyche, never again to see the light of day. I did what I needed to do to help him get through the murder investigation of George Lyford. But, then Hannah was having difficulty with Parker, and I knew that both he and Parker needed my help, and so I did what I had to do to smooth over the transition. And, it worked. I knew it would. But, it was in that moment when I saw that Hannah was sitting with Booth and Parker at our table in the diner that I knew it was finally and really truly over between us. I'd lost him. I wouldn't be getting him back. It was all my own fault, and at that point, I knew I wanted to crack into a million metaphorical pieces.

Fortunately, the Lyford homicide investigation wrapped up a few days after Thanksgiving, but before the first day of December. After that case, I was quite fortuitous in the fact that there weren't any other cases between the beginning of the month and the week of Christmas. I only communicated with him on three occasions during that entire time and both times it was via email or text message. That wasn't a coincidence on my part, either. And, on December 20th, before something might happen to prompt a major breakdown that I greatly feared might occur, I left D.C.

Now, given my tendency to go on archaeological digs or humanitarian missions during the holiday season before I met Booth, one might think the flight I took was to some far away place in Central America, Africa, or Southeast Asia. But, after the disaster of Maluku that had prompted the metaphorical hell I now found myself in, the last thing I wanted to do that Christmas was spend time in any of those places.

So, I did what any logical person who wants to be close to someone whom they love, but can't be with them because of their own stupidity, does—I booked a flight to spend the holiday in Philadelphia. I can't lie and say I don't have a bit of a sado masochistic streak in me in doing what I did, going where I went. But, somehow, standing on the streets of downtown Philadelphia, walking where I know he might've walked at one point and seeing the sights he saw and loved—it was self-indulgent of me, but it helped a bit. It helped soothe the sting of the bloody and raw wounds that I'd inflicted on myself because I'd been too afraid to take what he was offering me with both hands when I'd the chance.

As I stood on the corner of Juniper and Market Streets that Christmas Eve, I looked in the holiday windows of Macys in the old Wanamaker Building. I'd come to see the new Christmas Light show that Booth had told me had been one of his favorite things to do as a child. As I said, I know it was a ridiculous thing to do, but it was a coping mechanism. I was doing my best to get along from day-to-day with the knowledge that I'd lost him, through my own actions, and I'd never get him back. And, on Christmas, it was a particularly difficult day on which to cope with these hard truths. Perhaps that was why I started to tear up slightly when the music playing on the store's PA system started to blare _that_ particular song on _that _particular day.

_Once bitten and twice shy  
>I keep my distance but you still catch my eye<br>Tell me, baby, do you recognize me?  
>Well, it's been a year, it doesn't surprise me<em>

_Merry Christmas, I wrapped it up and sent it_  
><em>With a note saying, "I love you", I meant it<em>  
><em>Now I know what a fool I've been<em>  
><em>But if you kissed me now I know you'd fool me again<em>

_Last Christmas, I gave you my heart_  
><em>But the very next day, you gave it away<em>  
><em>This year to save me from tears<em>  
><em>I'll give it to someone special<em>

I've never been good with guilt. I've never handled it well. But, this year, I didn't really have much of a choice. This year, I was alone on Christmas. And, because I'd made a confession that had come far too late to the man I've loved, this year I was alone and would simply have to make the best of a bad situation. Oh, how I wish that I didn't have to—more than anything, even though I know how useless it is, I really wish I wasn't alone. But, I am, and that's how things are, and I'll learn to deal with it as I always do—I just wish it wasn't so.

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><p>-TBC-<p>

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><p>AN: Well, that was rather depressing. Time to end on a positive note. Coming up next—the final chapter and Booth's last confession, which will bring us up to speed with the timeline of season 7. Stay tuned!


	8. Year 8: Booth's Fourth Confession

Christmas Confessions

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Every time Christmas rolled around, one of them found out they'd ended up facing the truth of some type of confession. And, each year, after said revelation, things never went as Booth and Brennan had planned.

A/N: Obviously, since this piece brings this story up-to-date with the current season 7, it contains very slight spoilers for the first five episodes…honestly, not anything huge, but in the interests of fair warning, well—there we are, just to be on the safe side.

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><p>Year 8: Booth's Fourth Confession<p>

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><p>She was giving me that look again. It was the look that said: 'Be really careful what you do, Booth, because if you make the wrong move, you could end up in really deep shit.' Now, over the past seven and a half months, she's been giving me that look a lot, but in the past few weeks, it seems as if I've been getting it a lot. After a particularly hellacious trial and error period in the first month after she told me she was pregnant, I now know that when I get that look, it's better in the long run if I just stop what I'm doing and ask.<p>

"What am I doing that's wrong?" I blinked at her as looked up from the ornament box where I'd been rummaging through my less-than-carefully wrapped packing from last year.

Frowning from where she sat on the couch with her feet propped up on the coffee table in an attempt to alleviate some of the third trimester swelling, I swear I could feel her scowl all the way on the other side of the room. Pointing her finger in the vague direction of the tree, she said, "The tree is still somewhat crooked. I believe you need to adjust it approximately five degrees in the direction of the window so that it's straight."

Setting aside the fact that I'd already adjusted the tree three separate times in various directions and by various degrees, I merely pasted a smile on my face, set down the ornament I was holding, and nodded at her . "Sure, Bones. Just one sec."

Walking over to the tree, I shifted it as she asked. Once more, I could tell she was staring at me intently. Glancing over at her, all of a sudden, I knew something was wrong when I saw her face scrunch up into this contorted mess of angst. If the change in her facial expression wasn't enough, when it was followed by a quick series of several rapid sniffles, I quickly knew what was going to happen even as she did. Thoughts of the tree quickly pushed out of my head, I walked over to the couch and sat down next to her.

"What is it, Bones?" I said as I pulled her into a hug.

Flushing red, she quickly brushed away the tears that had escaped despite her hardest attempts to keep them from falling. Shaking her head, she tried to stop herself from sniffling again as she said, "Nothing. It's nothing."

"Bones—"

"I'm fine," she insisted. "I'm fine. It's just the hormones."

"Tell me," I said as I reached out to her and pulled her into a hug.

As soon as my arms were wrapped around her, she gave up all pretenses that she was okay as she began to sob again. Over the past few months, I'd become somewhat used to her hormonal emotional outbursts, and I'd long ago determined the only thing I could do was wait it out. And, so, I sat there holding her in my arms, stroking her hair, and letting her cry into my sweatshirt. After several moments of crying, the sobs subsided to the occasional sniffle.

When I thought that the worst was over, I smiled at her as I gently said, "Better?"

Her eyes red and puffy and her cheeks tear-stained, she slowly nodded her head. "Yes."

"You sure?" I asked, giving her a look.

Nodding, she said, "Yes, I'm certain."

"Positive?" I pressed. "Because, if I have to start singing to get you to smile, we both know that it's gonna hurt both our ears."

"Booth—"

"I'm serious, Bones," I told her. "I'm not above belting out some of Mariah Carey's best of Christmas songs—"

"Oh, please, don't," she said as she blinked at me. "It hurts my ears when you do that—and the baby's, too."

I didn't particularly want to, but I knew she needed to smile and so I took a breath as I began to sing in quite an off-key tone of voice:

_I don't want a lot for Christmas  
>There is just one thing I need<br>I don't care about the presents  
>underneath the Christmas tree<br>I don't need to hang my stocking  
>There upon the fireplace<br>Santa Claus won't make me happy  
>With a toy on Christmas day<br>I just want you for my own  
>More than you could ever know<br>Make my wish come true  
>All I want for Christmas is you<br>You baby_

Snickering to herself, and finally smiling that smile that I love so much, she sniffled once as she reached over and placed a finger on my lips.

"Please, Booth, no more—" she pleaded. "I'm okay."

Cracking a toothy grin at her, I nodded as I asked, "You sure."

This time, her smile widened as she nodded. "Yes, just please—please, stop singing."

"Sheesh," I said as I shook my head in feigned offense. "Tough crowd, Bones."

She gave me that look again, and I returned it with one of my own—the standard Booth grin o'charm that's gotten me out of deeper predicaments with her than this one over the years.

Sighing, she repeated, "I'm okay."

"Good," I nodded. "I believe you."

"But?" she asked, knowing what was coming next.

"But," I nodded. "Now you've gotta tell me what it was this time. Was it because I could only find short ornament hooks at the store instead of the short and long combo packs?"

She playfully punched me in the arm as she slowly shook her head.

"No," she responded. "I was just thinking that this time last year—"

"Nope," I said, quickly shaking my head. "No, Bones. We talked about this already. No more looking back. It's a waste of time."

"I can't help it, Booth," she said. "I'm sorry. But, I can't help but thinking back to how horrible things were last year. I was all alone and feeling miserable, but now things are so radically different they are this year. In the metaphorical span of a million year-period, I don't think I could ever have predicted that this is where I would be this Christmas."

"Fine," I nodded at her. "You've thought about it. Fine. Now, if you don't want to just think about where we are in the here and now, why don't you think about next year?" I reached out and placed a light hand over her extended belly. Almost as if she knew I needed some support, our daughter kicked as I covered her mother's stomach to emphasize my point. "By this time next year, our baby will be here, Bones. It'll be her first Christmas."

"Even though technically, _this _is her first Christmas," she replied. "She is alive at this current point in time even if she is still in utereo, Booth."

"Yeah, but next year we're going to get to dress her in all those cute little holiday dresses and the little itty bitty white socks with the lace edging, and take her to see Santa, and buy her presents that Parker will have to help her open on Christmas morning after Santa came," I continued to paint the picture, and found myself feeling an expectantly calm happiness as I thought of what was to come for us. "If you want to think about something, think about _that_, Bones. Think about our family, and all the stuff we're gonna get to do now. Remember, we're making new memories, right? Whatever we want?"

Slowly, she took a deep breath and nodded. "I'm trying, Booth."

"I know you are," I said with a smile. "Just…it doesn't do to dwell on the past, Bones. It's what's brought us where we are right now, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

"There is one thing that I still wish I could change no matter what you say," she suddenly said with a grumble.

Arching an eyebrow at her, I replied, "Oh?"

Nodding, she said, "On Christmas Eve, I can't have any Kahlua in my hot chocolate."

"I'll have yours," I smiled.

"Booth—" she said with a sigh.

"Don't worry about it," I told her with a grin. "By this time next year, you'll be able to get sloshed in honor of the holiday if that's what you want, Bones."

"Because I won't be pregnant anymore," she said slowly. "Because our daughter will be here."

"Bingo, baby," I grinned. "And, with that in mind, I have something I've been wanting to show you for a while."

Standing up, I went over to one of the bookshelves and quickly grabbed something I'd been waiting to give her for a long time…seven months or so. Handing two small packages wrapped in white tissue paper, she looked at me curiously as she asked, "What is it, Booth?"

"Well," I said, as I sat down next to her. "Since all our Christmas trees from here are on out are going to be ours, I thought it would be a good idea to start a new tradition. When I was a little kid, my parents bought each one of us a special ornament the year we were born. I still have my old one, but when Parks was born, I got a new one to signify that we were a family."

"Which one is yours?" she asked.

I pointed at the lonely Santa Claus that hung on the fairly bare tree since I hadn't gotten much decorating done yet in between her anal retentiveness and emotional cryfests.

"That one," I said pointing. "And, the little green elf is Parker's."

As I spoke, she slowly unwrapped the two packages. I didn't know if she would be happy or angry when she saw what I'd bought. Moving the tissue paper aside, she quickly unwrapped a Mrs. Claus ornament and a delicate angel in a blue dress. Holding the two ornaments in the palm of her hand reverently, she stared at them for several seconds.

When I looked at her, and saw an unreadable look in her eyes, I began to think she might be angry, so I quickly said, "I know how you feel about the religious stuff, Bones. But, I saw this in the store, and I thought it was really pretty, and I thought of the baby. When I saw the Mrs. Claus ornament next to it on the tree in the shop, I kinda took it as a sign."

Her eyes darted back and forth from the ornaments to me and back again. At last, she looked up at me, and she tilted her head as her blue eyes watered once more. "You bought this for me…and our daughter?"

I slowly nodded my head. "Yeah. Is that okay?"

"A new tradition?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper since it was so thick with emotion.

"Yeah," I said again. "Are you okay with that?"

Reaching over, despite the awkwardness the advanced stage of her body had made it to move some times, she pulled me into a tight hug. She was crying again, this time the tears merely falling as she nodded and clung to me tightly.

"Bones?" I whispered.

After a minute or two of crying again, she finally answered, "Yes, Booth?"

"If you don't like them, I can take them back, and we can find something else—"

Slowly pulling apart, she shook her head and said, "No. No, don't do that. They're perfect."

"Perfect?" I asked, still unconvinced.

She nodded again as she leaned back into kiss me. "Perfect. Thank you so much for getting them for us."

"Of course, Bones. You know nothing's too good for my girls," I couldn't help myself even as she rolled her eyes at my words. Giving her the grin again before I leaned in to kiss her, I whispered, "I love you—Merry Christmas, Bones."

And, before her lips met mine in a perfect kiss, she whispered some of my favorite words that I would ever hear. "Merry Christmas, Booth. I love you, too."

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><p>~The End~<p>

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><p>AN2: So, there we have it. Thus ends my little B&B inspired Christmas series. Thanks to everyone who's already left reviews—and, hopefully, to those who will chime in with their thoughts as to what they thought of how things wrapped up. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed it. We will be returning to your regularly scheduled updates shortly. Thanks for reading!


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